Belonging

October 31, 2015

Unwanted foetus. Yet survives the drudgery of birth. The womb’s horrific dream comes true, it’s a girl child. Abandoned, the baby’s fresh red blood mixes devilishly with the grey mire of the sewer. Fate unconfirmed, hunger gives company. The whole world is hers. And she belongs to the whole world.

A scant girl now. Not much in her share of joy or food. A pavement to dwell, too many brothers to fiddle with her under-developed organs, a 15 hour job at different traffic lights pleading to the motorists for a glimpse into the dungeons of her smoky eyes, too many salivating observers, some offering her a big orange note in exchange for an hour of bloodshed. Flaky skin ripping apart. Pretending crying eyes dampening her baked tresses, irritating the lice. The whole world is hers. And she belongs to the whole world.

A lissome adolescent. Juicy lips. The smile better than her wails. Different owners. A home, finally, to take shelter. Full meal thrice a day. A bathroom where she can see herself without anyone seeing her. A mirror that reminds her of her verve, her age, her thick lips, her pale skin. Lampooning neighbors. A grand burlesque. A new client every night – nauseating drunkards, coy oldies, excited virgins, confused andropausals, tensed proprietors, nasty drivers, meek handicaps, zealous pimps. Men entering all possible chasms of her body. A whimper that goes unheard, or to some clients, excites. The whole world is hers. And she belongs to the whole world.

A menopausal woman. Callous vagina. Many children, many alleged sperm owners. Same cacophony of traffic lights and vociferous honks. Dissenting hurried motorists. A pavement to dwell, with added responsibility to feed her blithe children. Some dying of hunger, some of malicious diseases. Some being taken away to a lucrative traffic light. Some awaited for blooming. The whole world is hers. And she belongs to the whole world.

Now an unwanted old woman. Life which is a kaleidoscope of possessed malice, oppressive tragedies, poised to well tears, suppressive owners, impregnable pains, eulogizing and humiliating clients. No one to look up to, as ever. Fertile pain cropping up from every pore. The last of the lasts. She sighs, lying on the same sewer she was abandoned at. She coughs and the antiquated pale red blood spuming from her mouth mixes devishly with the grey mire of the sewer. What a life, she sighs again. Then the sky turns into a pale grey. Cloudy it gets. And it rains, but instead of water, it’s acid. Finally she unbelongs. The whole world isn’t hers now. And she doesn’t belong to the whole world anymore.